by LJ Vickery
“It’s easy,” he assured her. “Certainly easier than your little car. You’ll do fine.”
She nodded, but looked less than certain. “What if I have an accident?”
“I have insurance. Don’t worry.” He smiled and indicated an intersection up ahead. “See that stop sign?”
She nodded.
“Take a right, then the next right, and the next. You’ll end up coming out right there.” He pointed behind them. Solina turned to look.
“Okay.” She still sounded doubtful, but Wiley had faith she could do it.
“Just wait ‘til I get my shovel out of the back before you take off. It might take you a few passes before I finish and flag you down.”
Not giving her a chance to rethink or object, Wiley opened the door and jumped out, quickly rounding to the back of the vehicle to retrieve his shovel. As he opened the hatch, snow avalanched down and onto his head.
Dammit.
He shook it off, closed the door and gave the SUV a loud knock, letting Solina know she could move. Slowly, she inched away, brake lights glaring. Wiley chuckled. Her foot would probably stay firmly affixed to the brake pedal for the duration.
Chipping away, the snow lay deeper and was more icy than he thought. Good. Because his pensive mood from earlier returned, and he took his frustration out on the crusty piles. Unfortunately, the physical effort didn’t make the problem in his head go away. If only he knew whose problem it really was. Maybe his, upset he had to jump through hoops for Solina to trust him. Not with kisses, where she seemed pretty comfortable, but with her safety. Unjustifiable? Perhaps. But he’d never had that problem before. He was always the secure haven, the one everyone trusted. It hurt him that Solina, the first woman who could be more to him than a passing fancy, shied away with suspicion.
Even later, when attempting to lighten his mood in the truck, Solina had gotten him to talk about his family, but hadn’t shared anything about hers. So were the arm’s-length boundaries she imposed his problem or hers? He hoped to find out.
It took him a good twenty minutes to clear the space. He might have been quicker, but the plows buried some of his progress on one drive-by that had Wiley cursing. He normally loved winter, but only if he had a hot, spiced cider and a roaring fire, not an engagement with a blizzard.
Beauty passed by for the fourth time just as he finished up, and he saw her foot had finally let up on the brakes. Good for her. He took several more clearing swipes and waited a few minutes before he saw her coming around again. He flagged her down. She pulled up beside him and rolled down the window. Instantly, her face became dotted with white flakes.
“Do you want me to park it?” she asked over the roaring wind.
“You think you can?” Wiley wondered at her new confidence.
“Yup. I’m normally good at parallel parking,” she boasted. “I’ve just never tried it in anything this large, but you have a great back wiper, so how hard can it be?”
“Go for it.” Wiley grinned. “There’s no traffic to hurry you along.” Not that he wouldn’t mind her hurrying. He was wet from his head to his feet and wouldn’t mind chasing away the cold with a nice, hot shower.
He climbed over the bank to the sidewalk and watched as she pulled ahead before dropping the truck into reverse. Her technique looked good, her angle perfect. She backed in confidently, nailing it on the first try. Pride swelled within his chest as he waded back through the snowbank toward her.
“Great job,” he congratulated.
“I freaking love this vehicle,” she expounded giddily as he opened her door. She practically fell into his arms. “When can I drive it again?” Her eyes were alight with excitement, her strange, transitory reserve nowhere in sight.
Wiley lifted her and gave her an enormous kiss on the lips. “Any time you want…except tonight. The weather sucks and we need to get inside.”
“Okay. But my bag.” She wiggled free from his embrace. Climbing into the truck, she floundered across the front seat, legs flailing, and came up with what she needed. When she sought to put her feet down on the street again, he swept her up into his arms, bag and all, giving a kick behind him to close the vehicle’s door.
Beauty squealed. “What are you doing? I can walk.”
“Yeah, but this is so much nicer,” he quipped. “And if you give me any lip, I’ll dump you in the snow again.”
“Nice try, buddy,” she bantered, then acted like she locked her lips with a key.
He grinned and strode forward, hoping to prolong her giddiness and keep the cautious Solina at bay. He stumbled only once…and that was purely to elicit her shriek.
“Gotcha.” He smiled.
She tilted her face and bit his earlobe. That had him lurching…in several different directions.
“Behave until we get inside,” he growled.
Despite her strange reticence on one hand, she was feisty as sin on the other. Which meant he could get lucky tonight…if he wanted to forego anything but a physical relationship. Was that what she wanted? It was tough to tell with Solina. She presented a dichotomy—bold and brash at times, wary and timid at others. It piqued his curiosity.
The silliness continued as he fumbled with his key and pushed open the door to his apartment, Solina still cradled to his chest. The minute the door closed behind them and he turned on the lights, her entire demeanor changed. Her body stiffened, her nostrils flared. Wiley couldn’t help but think she was moments away from a panic attack.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He squeezed her close, his concern spiking.
Solina shook her head, closed her eyes and drew in a strangled breath through her nose, which she slowly leaked out from between semi-closed lips. He held her as she repeated this several times before her body finally lost its rigidity.
“I’m fine,” she told him quietly.
He didn’t believe her.
“You want to tell me what just happened?” he probed gently.
“No. No, I don’t.” She struggled to get out of his arms, and reluctantly, he let her go.
“Listen, I know you’re nervous about this arrangement, but I have two bedrooms, and despite the, uh, foreplay we engaged in earlier, I’m not going to attack you.”
“I already know that, Wiley. I’m not worried,” she allowed, taking down her hood. Her eyes remained large and cautious as she gazed around the room, placing her bag on the floor to lean against her legs.
“Then what is it?” His frustration returned, but he tamped it down, holding out his hands for her coat as she unzipped it.
She gave it to him, then picked up her bag, gripping it against her chest. “It’s, um, very…clean in here.”
Wiley drew his brows together, puzzled. She didn’t like clean? “I have a service that comes in twice a week,” he told her. “I’m actually kind of a slob.”
“No. Not that kind of clean.” She shook her head as he removed his coat, placing them both on a hall tree beside the door. “I mean, it’s so…so empty.”
He barked out a bitter laugh. So that was what bothered her? His lack of personal items? Did he still seem sketchy to her, like he killed people and moved away quickly, having no possessions to hold him back? Screw that. He gave her a partial explanation. “Listen. I’ve only been working for Del for a year, and was deployed before that. All my good stuff is back in Oklahoma, waiting to be shipped. Seriously.”
“What are you waiting for?” Her face still showed incredulousness.
He didn’t answer. Although he’d shared so much, Solina had avoided almost every question he had asked about her past. It was time for her to step up to the plate and give him some indication of trust. He ignored her question
“Why don’t you have a seat and get comfortable. I need to give Maygan a quick call to let her know we made it, then I’ll make us some food.” He headed to the kitchen, but Solina didn’t stay put. She followed, clearly still anxious, but obviously curious, too.
“You cook?” she asked hesitantly,
running a hand across a counter that remained empty, except for a coffee maker.
“Not much, but I figure a box of mac and cheese with some hotdogs can fill our stomachs.”
He had to give it to her. She didn’t grimace at the unsophisticated offerings, squaring her shoulders instead. “Do you mind if I have a look in your refrigerator and cupboards? I’m competent in the kitchen, and it will give me something to do.”
Perhaps cooking would keep her from perseverating on whatever had her spooked.
He shrugged. “Sure. Knock yourself out.” He truly didn’t mind. Wiley cooked only to fuel his body. Food hadn’t been about anything else since he’d entered the army.
With what appeared to be great reluctance, she placed her bag on the table, then raised her chin and walked to his fridge. She tipped her head, examining the contents. Next, she perused the freezer, after which she opened his cupboards, one by one. “I think I can make do with what you have.” She suddenly looked more confident. “I’ll put together an acceptable meal. It’ll be thirty or forty minutes, depending on how quickly I can defrost the chicken.”
Knowing he’d been dismissed, Wiley opted to get himself warmed up. “Okay. I’ll hit the shower.”
She eyed his wet clothes, then spun around, opening a drawer. But not before he’d seen her cheeks turn pink. “Uh-huh. Take your time.”
Had she pictured him naked and soaped up? Wiley sure hoped so. He strode from the room and down the hall, making his phone call on the way.
Once in the shower, the hot spray hitting him, he relaxed, cleared his mind, and analyzed what had happened, especially when they entered his apartment. Something was up. He’d noticed the slight tremor in her hands, the shallow breaths she’d sucked in. He felt certain it wasn’t about being alone with him in his apartment. She didn’t seem to fear him physically. The only clue she’d inadvertently given was about how empty his place felt.
He’d get to the bottom of it. She had yet to trust him enough to let him meet her internal monsters, but he was determined to be patient. Very patient. Because, to his mind, Solina would be worth every minute it took.
It felt good to have her puttering about in his kitchen. He hadn’t known how much he missed someone special doing something as simple as cooking for him. The last one to do that had been his mother before he’d entered the military. He certainly didn’t include Cookie, from the mess hall at the base, in that equation. He’d never had the slightest urge to kiss that guy’s ugly puss.
Chuckling, Wiley continued to shower while mapping out a plan that would get Solina to open up. He’d light a fire in the fireplace―the feature that sold him on the apartment to begin with―and attempt to make her feel more at ease. Once she was full of food and languid, he hoped to get some answers from her.
Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel, he emerged from the bathroom and immediately smelled something amazing. His mouth watered and his belly growled. Whatever Solina cooked, it sure beat mac and cheese. He hurried to his bedroom to dress, then made his way to the living room to light the fire. Luckily, he always kept the hearth laid, just in case he found time to enjoy it. Like now.
Two matches later, the tinder caught, promising to render flames, and Wiley stood from his crouch, following his nose to the kitchen.
“Damn, that smells good.” He took an appreciative sniff.
“It’ll be another five minutes if you want to set the kitchen table,” she answered without turning from the pan she stirred. He noticed she was barefoot, having taken off her boots while she cooked. Her toenails were painted bright pink.
Very cute.
“I thought we’d eat at the coffee table in the living room,” he informed her. “I just started a fire, and it’ll be nice and toasty.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Wiley noticed that her tension seemed to have dissipated. If she did have some kind of anxiety disorder, which he now suspected, he’d have to remember that cooking, or perhaps the smell of comfort food, reduced her angst.
He shuffled around her, collecting the things they needed—plates, napkins, flatware. “Will we need salt and pepper?”
She snorted. “I tend to have a heavy hand with spices, so no.”
A heavy hand boded well. He liked flavors that exploded on his tongue. The last thing he had tasted was Solina. And she had been a culinary delight.
He set the low table and walked the short distance back into the kitchen to find her putting rice into a bowl. “Shall I carry that in?” he asked.
“If you wait a minute, I’ll fill the other bowl and join you.” She deftly scraped a lovely tomato-chicken mixture out of a frying pan and into the waiting container.
“It smells really good,” he sighed appreciatively. “What is it?”
“A simple chicken curry that’s been drastically modified. You had one very sad onion, bouillon cubes instead of broth, and skim milk instead of cream. Still…” She shrugged. “It’s palatable.”
When they walked into the living room, he motioned for her to have a seat on the floor, their backs leaning on the sofa. She elegantly folded herself down with a straight back and crossed legs.
What a sweet move.
He lowered himself, far less gracefully, and waited until she’d served them both and dug in before he began eating. The first bite detonated every receptor in his mouth. “Mmm…,” he moaned appreciatively, his brows raising. Not wanting to waste a second more on kudos, he turned back and shoveled a second forkful into his mouth, then a third…until it was all gone. He chewed his last bite slowly before swallowing.
“You have to teach me this one,” he implored. “Quick and easy is right up my alley, but it usually doesn’t get me something this delicious.”
“I’d be happy to,” she answered, also eating heartily.
Damn, it couldn’t get much better than a bright, gorgeous woman who not only cooked, but enjoyed her food, as well. She was damned near perfect…except for the problems he sensed tucked away in her brain. He wiped his mouth. Time to liberate those secrets from her stifling little attic.
“Wha—” He let the first syllable slip, but she beat him to the punch.
“So, Wiley, what is it you haven’t told me about your lack of furnishings? After a year, why haven’t you sent for your personal items? There must be a reason.” She turned wide, dark eyes to his.
Oh no, you don’t. She wasn’t going to pull the last bit of information out of him before he got answers of his own. “First, how about you tell me why you freaked out when we walked into my apartment?” he interposed in a non-confrontational voice.
She turned away, shifted and looked around uncomfortably, as if remembering all over again why the room bothered her. “It’s far too long a story,” she said wretchedly, poking at the last bit of food on her plate.
He reached over to raise her chin with one finger, turning her face to his. “That’s all right, Beauty. We have all night.”
Chapter Eight
Solina bit back the panic that threatened again. What could she tell him? She didn’t want to scare him away. She wanted to have sex with Wiley before revealing the things that would make him run for the hills.
She reviewed the qualities that attracted her to him—kindness, patience, a great sense of humor, a hard, workingman’s body. However, her fearfulness lay in the one positive attribute that overshadowed everything else. He was completely normal. His family, his background, his friends… All normal. And she was anything but.
If his eyes weren’t trained on her, she would have placed her head in her hands and groaned. What could she tell him? She had a feeling he’d know if she lied. So the question became how much should she tell him? Just enough, but not too much.
Throat dry, Solina swallowed. “My family isn’t quite as, uh, normal as yours,” she began.
“Most aren’t,” he commiserated. “Believe me, I’ve seen plenty that run the gamut.” He pushed his plate aside. “Tell me.”
&n
bsp; She hesitated before beginning slowly. “Well, it’s just me and my parents. No siblings. I sometimes get the feeling I was a surprise to them. They lived in Mumbai at the time, one of the rare occasions they were actually in India. When I came along, my mother was thirty-nine and my father forty-one.”
Wiley smiled sympathetically. “Around the same age as my parents when they had me, but all my brothers and sisters made up for the energy they didn’t have.”
“Lucky you.” Solina sighed, trying to keep herself from pining. “Not only did my parents not have energy for me, they also lacked an understanding of what I craved from them.” She didn’t have to say attention, indulgence, emotional support. Wiley was smart enough to figure that out. She continued. “I know they loved me, but their lives were full and important, so my needs weren’t given much weight.” She understood more, now, but it hadn’t been easy on her young self.
“Let me guess.” Wiley reached out to rub her back in soothing circles. “Nannies and boarding schools?”
Solina rolled her eyes, hoping to lighten the moment. “Not even,” she admitted. “Because of their jobs, we moved a lot. We had housekeepers wherever we landed, and until I became old enough for school, I was put in their charge. Some were good, some were bad, but none ever stuck around longer than a year, so I quickly learned not to become attached.”
Wiley scowled, but didn’t say anything. Solina took a deep breath and went on. “Schools were just…schools. My parents had their drivers enroll me in whatever academy became handy to our new location, but again, none ever lasted more than a year. I formed no bonds with my peers or teachers. There was no time.”
“That had to be tough. Not one person to call your own?”
She shook her head. “No. I was a very solitary child.”
Now came the hard part. How much to reveal without seeming to be a head-case.
“Because of the number of times we moved, we never kept a lot of things. No personal items, no toys. Each time we changed residences, we had no idea what the accommodations would be, so I had to leave many of my belongings behind.”